


drop out of this crowd

by shineyma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8353825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: Grant has an unexpected and not at all coincidental reunion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am so SO behind on comment replies, it's not even funny. I'm sorry, I've just been completely incapable of writing lately, and looking at old fics and remembering when I USED to be able to write was just...no help at all. Hopefully I'll be able to catch up on those this weekend!
> 
> For now, I offer this. I hope y'all enjoy!

The problem with conning wealthy old men, Grant muses, is that they never shut up. He came to this gala to reinforce his cover and ingratiate himself with his would-be employer, both of which he’s accomplished, and he was planning on being out before ten. Unfortunately, the most difficult stage of the process—gracefully extricating himself from the conversation—is dragging on. And on. And on.

It’s nearly _midnight_.

He’s giving longing thought to desperate measures—he always plants a few explosives in strategic locations at this type of event, just in case—when a very unexpected voice interrupts his mark’s rambling story.

“I thought that was you!”

Surprise has him turning on his heel without thought. “Jemma?”

It really is her, somehow—dressed to the nines in a daring purple gown, her diamond necklace sparkling in the light of the ballroom’s chandeliers and (deliberately, he suspects) drawing the eye to her prominently displayed cleavage.

She looks absolutely gorgeous…and not at all like herself. Even if Grant’s suspicions weren’t automatically aroused by her surprise appearance, the outfit would do it.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says, smiling up at him. It’s a small, contained thing, nothing at all like the beaming grins he remembers. His suspicion grows. “But it’s been so long; when I saw you, I simply had to say hello.”

“I’m glad you did,” he says almost reflexively. “You look stunning, sweetheart.”

Her smile grows—wider, but no more sincere. “You clean up very nicely, yourself. Is this Versace?”

“Yes,” he confirms, watching carefully for a weapon as she rubs the cuff of his jacket between two fingers. This is getting shadier by the minute; last he checked, Jemma wouldn’t know—wouldn’t _care_ to know—a Versace tuxedo from a ten dollar rental.

“Well, it’s gorgeous, dear.”

The back of her thumb brushes his wrist as her hand falls away, and somehow, the contact jolts him out of his shock.

Suspicions aside, he has a cover to keep. He returns her smile with a wider and slightly smarmy one, turning slightly as he does to invite his companions into the conversation.

“Thank you,” he says, and looks to his mark—a very stupid but very rich man named Warner Smythe, who does _not_ appreciate being ignored. “Forgive me, Mr. Smythe. Jemma and I used to date, years ago, and I’m afraid seeing her again made me completely forget my manners.”

 _Date_ is an exaggeration—really, they were fuck buddies—but he figures Jemma would prefer the polite lie to the crass truth…an assumption quickly confirmed by the slight easing of her expression.

To his own relief, Smythe chuckles heartily. “Not at all, Charles! I was young once, too, you know, and anyone would be distracted by such an enchanting creature.” He smiles at Jemma, who impresses Grant by managing to return it kindly. _Enchanting creature_ —that’s gotta grate. “Why don’t you two catch up, leave us old men to talk?”

“Thank you, sir,” Grant says, and offers the others—not marks, at least not now, but someday they might be—a polite nod. “Gentlemen. Mr. Smythe, we’re still on for our meeting Monday?”

“Of course, of course,” Smythe says. As he speaks, the orchestra starts up a new piece, and just like that, Grant’s got exactly the opening to flee he’s been waiting for.

“May I have this dance?” he asks, offering Jemma his hand.

She takes it without hesitation. “I’d be delighted.”

He whisks her onto the dance floor, aiming them towards the far end of the crowd. Her complete failure to react to hearing him called the wrong name has only increased his suspicion, and if this is gonna turn into some kind of confrontation, he wants it happening as far from Smythe as possible.

“Quite the coincidence,” he says, quietly, as they dance, “running into you here.”

“Not a coincidence at all, I’m afraid,” is Jemma’s soft reply. Away from Smythe, her smile has disappeared; a casual observer might mistake her expression for concentration on her steps, but he can read her nerves—and her determination not to show them—in the set of her chin. “My employer would like to hire you. In light of our history, he thought I’d be the best choice to make the offer.”

“Really.” He turns that over in his mind for a second, considering the angles. There’s gotta be more to it than that—for one thing, while he doesn’t exactly have a website, there are a number of typical ways potential customers approach him, and sending an ex-fling (no matter how great she was in bed) isn’t SOP. “Are you still with the same company? Or have you moved on to…redder pastures?”

Her eyes flash at the veiled reference to HYDRA, which is really answer enough. “The former.”

Oh, yeah, there’s definitely something up here. SHIELD might not enjoy the same lofty heights it used to, but his imagination doesn’t quite stretch to any agency that lays claim to that name—no matter how shadowed it is these days—hiring a man of his profession.

“Your employer and I have some bad blood,” he says, “considering who I used to work for.” Jemma’s fingers tighten around his. “He really sure he wants to hire me?”

“He’ll be taking precautions, of course,” she says lightly. “At the very least, he insists on an extremely thorough _interview_.”

She stresses the final word, pairing it with a not at all subtle widening of her eyes, and the penny drops. It’s not his skills SHIELD wants, it’s answers. Somehow, he’s in possession of intel they need—and need badly enough to send _Jemma_ , of all people, to fetch it.

That’s not to say he’s not impressed; for as terrible a liar as Jemma, this hasn’t been a bad attempt at subterfuge. She’s managed to keep her composure, in the face of both hearing him called by his cover’s name _and_ his oblique mention (confirmation? Did she know for sure, or only suspect?) of his former HYDRA ties. And she’s communicated her purpose here without putting his cover at any risk whatsoever.

Grant’s not gonna lie, it’s damn hot.

“Let’s save the business talk for later,” he suggests, allowing his hand to slip a little too low on her back. In the corner of his eye, he catches a man at the bar tense visibly…only to turn casually away when Jemma cuts him a sharp look.

She’s got back-up, then—people here to protect her in case things go south. It’s a sensible precaution, really, especially when sending someone like Jemma to deal with someone like him, but it irks him anyway. The temptation to spirit her away—to steal her right out from under SHIELD’s noses, just to prove a point—is nearly overwhelming.

He pushes it down anyway. The reunion’s going so well; it’d be a shame to ruin it now.

“I’ve missed you,” he continues. It’s a lie (really, he hasn’t thought of her in years), but a harmless one. And having her in his arms, holding her close, looking down at her lovely face—and her lovely breasts, which are even more noticeable from this angle— _is_ bringing back some fond and pleasant memories. “I’d like to catch up, if you’re amenable.”

Her eyes flit briefly away. “And if I’m not?”

“I’d be sorry to hear it,” he says, “but I can’t force you.”

He _could_ force her, actually. Easily. There’s new definition in her arms and a certain awareness about her that suggests she’s had some physical training in the last few years, but she’s a long way from being his match. Honestly, there isn’t much he couldn’t do—drag her out of here, kill her friend at the bar, scare her into playing nice…

What he means is that he _won’t_ —and he can feel the moment Jemma realizes it. Some of the tension falls away from her shoulders, and as they turn with the music, she sways a little closer to him.

“What sort of catching up did you have in mind?” she asks.

Now _that’s_ a loaded question—but as SHIELD’s probably listening in, he’ll keep it PG.

“The kind that happens somewhere quieter,” he says, and heroically resists the urge to bring up the number of rooms available in this hotel. “There’s an all-night diner just down the street that makes a mean apple pie.”

That’s another lie. The pie’s terrible. But it doesn’t matter much; he figures their chances of making it to the diner are slim. As soon as they’re out of the ballroom, safely away from the rest of the guests, SHIELD’ll be swooping down on him to demand whatever intel they think he has. This whole conversation is just a polite fiction.

But the friendly offer resonates with Jemma, he can see that. They might not have dated, but they _were_ more than just strangers who occasionally fucked. They were friends…and if she’s still with SHIELD, she’s probably lost a lot of those in recent years.

If he plays his cards right, he might just have her willing to renew their acquaintance before SHIELD’s done with him.


End file.
